


make this place your home

by inkedinserendipity



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Taakitz Dads, and their small child ango mcdango, he's a very small boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedinserendipity/pseuds/inkedinserendipity
Summary: Angus approaches the bed and carefully sits himself on the end, perched like a bird ready to flee. In his hands is a slim novel. “Sorry to wake you, sirs,” he says, voice quiet. “I, um, heard the thunderstorm, and sometimes, when I was younger - when I was little my parents and I would, uh, wait them out together, and I was wondering if it would be okay if I, um, stayed in here for a little while, just until I can sleep again? It won’t be long! I’ll be out of your hairs soon, I promise.”Kravitz listens to his story carefully. It’s a lie, of course; Angus’s parents never cared enough to allow their child in their bed for comfort. One day, he hopes, Angus will not feel the need to make up traditions they all know did not exist.“’Course, bubbeleh,” says Taako, patting the space between himself and Kravitz. “Hop on over, little ribbit. Got room in this bed enough for three.”





	make this place your home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GothicPixi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothicPixi/gifts).



> Happy belated Candlenights, dear! Enjoy these good good boys and their truly awful accents.

Kravitz wakes without knowing what roused him.

Coming to consciousness is a slow, trickling process. Awareness spills into him like light seeping through an open window; he notices first that he’s warm, the thought vague and masked with a pleasant haze, then a strip of warmth along his chest and tucked into the crook of his neck. Thin threads blend through his fingers, and years of honed instinct let him run his hands through the hair framing his husband’s face without needing to open his eyes.

But he opens them anyway, foggily curious to what woke him. It’s still dark outside, but there’s rain drumming fierce against the windows of their home, and as the room around him illuminates with three bright streaks of white light, Kravitz recognizes the sound as a thunderstorm howling outside.

Fingers still moving absently through Taako’s hair, Kravitz watches the windows, the raindrops tapping melodies against the glass and rolling down to pool at the bottom. Against his wool-covered chest Taako shifts slightly, hand settling more securely on Kravitz’s hip.

Kravitz bares his teeth in a yawn, and is about to go back to sleep when a quiet noise catches his attention.

It’s almost inaudible over the constant, dull roar of the rain or the sharp crackles of lightning, but the sound of breathing that is neither his nor Taako’s is faintly perceptible behind the door. Kravitz sits up.

“Taako,” he breathes, as quietly as he can, and shakes his husband’s shoulder. “Love, wake up.”

Taako comes to with a grunt and a muted curse. “Kravitz, what - ”

“Come in,” Kravitz calls before Taako can complete his question, tugging him up by the shoulder.

Several seconds trickle past, and for a moment Kravitz wonders if he guessed wrong, if it really was the lightning that stirred him from sleep; but then the door inches open to reveal the silhouette of Angus McDonald, backlit faintly by the candles in their living room. Kravitz had strung them up to help Angus find his way to the kitchen should he need a nighttime snack. (Taako complains about fire hazards, but keeps the pantry stocked with cinnamon muffins - Angus’s favorite - so the candles stay.)

Angus approaches the bed and carefully sits himself on the end, perched like a bird ready to flee. In his hands is a slim novel. “Sorry to wake you, sirs,” he says, voice quiet. “I, um, heard the thunderstorm, and sometimes, when I was younger - when I was little my parents and I would, uh, wait them out together, and I was wondering if it would be okay if I, um, stayed in here for a little while, just until I can sleep again? It won’t be long! I’ll be out of your hairs soon, I promise.”

Kravitz listens to his story carefully. It’s a lie, of course; Angus’s parents never cared enough to allow their child in their bed for comfort. One day, he hopes, Angus will not feel the need to make up traditions they all know did not exist.

“’Course, bubbeleh,” says Taako, patting the space between himself and Kravitz. “Hop on over, little ribbit. Got room in this bed enough for three.”

Angus shuffles awkwardly toward them, book clutched in his hands, still unsure of his welcome. It makes Kravitz’s heart clench uncomfortably, to see a little boy so unsure of himself among the people who love him most.

He settles between them, wedged half on Kravitz’s chest and half on Taako’s, pajamed foot hardly reaching Kravitz’s hipbone. He jumps when thunder roars outside, and Kravitz lays a steadying hand on his shoulder. Angus used to startle at his cool fingers; he doesn’t, anymore.

“Wanna give us some light, kiddo?” Taako says, after another bolt of lightning strikes and Angus grips the hemmed edges of the blanket tight, little knuckles straining white. “Gimme a little flame, magic boy.”

“Sir, I don’t - ”

“Give it a shot.”

Angus takes a few steadying breaths, then cups his hands together. Taako magics their bedside candles closer together. Angus closes his eyes, little brows furrowed in confusion, holding completely still for three seconds before his face glows orange and red. Taako, safely where Angus cannot see him, smiles. “Nice job, little man,” Taako says, dipping the wick between cupped palms. The candle lights and Angus opens his eyes. Kravitz lights another candle with the first. “Look at you, bringin’ light into our room.”

“That’s a very sentimental way to view a bit of magic, sir,” Angus says, but he’s smiling.

Taako scoffs as he replaces the candle on his bedside table. “Taako? Sentimental? Banish the thought. You’ll never see a lick of sentiment out of me.”

“You kiss Kravitz all the time.”

“That’s because he kisses, like, really well.”

Kravitz chokes on his own breath, and Angus covers his ears, shouting “That’s digusting, sir!”

“What?” Taako asks smugly. “It’s true, darling.”

“Angus is a twelve year old boy, dear.”

“He’s a little fuckin’ genius, he’ll learn about that shit eventually,” Taako says, and pries Angus’s hands away from his ears. “Okay, enough of that, ol’ Taako’s done bein’ gross.”

“Thank the gods,” Angus says, and Kravitz is pleased to see a smile breaking out along his face. “You’re revolting, sir.”

“No arguments from this corner, bubbeleh,” he says, and plucks the book from Ango’s hands. “We playin’ keepaway or reading?”

“Please don’t play keepaway with my book, sir,” Angus says, and only jumps a little at the next thunderclap. “I need that to read.”

“It’s  _Caleb Cleveland_ , you’ve already read it. Can probably recite the first chapter from memory at this point.”

“It’s one of the newer ones,” Angus says, completely straight-faced, “so not yet.”

“Nerd.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Righty then,” Taako says, and shifts them both so that Taako can lean his head against Kravitz’s shoulder. “What page?”

“I don’t know, sir. That’s what bookmarks are for.”

Taako flicks him in the nose. Angus laughs unrepentantly. Kravitz is delighted to see a black-and-gold bookmark lined with golden engravings of feathers - a birthday present of his from some two years ago - marking Angus’s page. It had been one of Angus’s first birthdays in their home, and Kravitz had worried for weeks about the gift - that it was too expensive, too plain, that maybe Angus didn’t even  _use_  bookmarks, maybe he just memorized what page he was on before he closed the book. He’s pleased to see his gift in use.

“Page sixty-nine,” says Taako, sliding the bookmark between Angus’s ears and the frames of his glasses. “Nice.”

“Why is that nice, sir?”

Taako stills. “Um,” he says, clearly scrounging for an excuse. Then, “‘Cause when Merle beefs it for good that’ll be the number of times he’s died. Lucky number, kiddo.”

“That’s mean, sir.”

“Yeah, well, that’s how Taako do,” he says.

“You really shouldn’t make light of so many deaths,” Kravitz sighs, more out of wry obligation than anything else.

“What’re you gonna do, lock me up?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Taako passes Kravitz the book and Kravitz takes it, pauses; Angus is wearing his glasses, this late at night. He appeared with a book in his hands. It doesn’t take a huge amount of detective-work to realize that Angus was probably reading before coming to their room, waiting for the thunderstorm to pass. It makes Kravitz sad and angry in equal measures - at his parents, never at Angus himself, never angry at Angus - that the boy felt the need to sequester himself before finally deciding, probably after hours of reading, to find them.

Taako clears his throat, and Kravitz shakes those dark thoughts from his mind. Now, they help Angus feel better; later, there will be time to talk with Taako about the small boy they both love.

He starts to read. The first page is exposition, so no thrown voices, but when he hits the second page there’s a bit of dialogue. New characters, different from the ones in the first couple books, so he gets a quick character profile from Angus before deciding on a voice.

Twenty or so minutes pass, along with a couple chapters, before a character that Angus pegs as the villain shows up. Kravitz tilts the book toward Taako, who sighs and grumbles and makes as much of a fuss as he can in the warm room covered in a blanket with Angus pressed against his side, and reads the line. He critiques it mercilessly, of course, ‘cause “real life villains don’t say shit like this, y’know, kid. They say, I dunno,  _smell ya later_  or  _haello haello velcome to my cave_  in really shitty accents. This dramatic monologue shit? Doesn’t happen. The first time someone tried to monologue to us we threw him off a train.”

Angus points out through a yawn that he and Magnus and Merle weren’t exactly conventional storybook heroes, which stumps Taako. Kravitz chuckles quietly at the sight of his husband so disgruntled in the face of logic.

Kravitz picks up narrating smoothly, his deep voice well-suited for soothing Angus near sleep. Even the character voices he doesn’t throw quite so wildly as usual. Taako follows suit, his typical dramatic readings toned down in the light of Angus’s steadying breaths and fluttering eyelids.

As he falls asleep, Angus mashes his entire face against Kravitz’s chest, which takes him so off-guard he stops reading for a moment and stares downward. There’s - there is absolutely no way that is comfortable. He lifts Angus up and rearranges him gently, shushing his tired apologies and worn thank-yous and slipping a pillow underneath his cheek, which is, well, unconventional, but keeps Kravitz from worrying about the poor boy’s neck.

The candles are down to their last wicks by the time Angus is definitively asleep, one hand curled in the front of Taako’s shirt and curls resting against Kravitz’s shoulder.

“Welp,” Taako says, yawning hugely. He snuffs out the candles with an absent wave of his hand. “I’m fuckin’ pooped. Nighty-night and all that, rabbit.”

He tucks his head into the valley between Kravitz’s neck and shoulder and closes his eyes. “Good night, Taako.” And, to the boy curled on his shoulder: “And to you too, Angus.”

The rain has slowed from a ceaseless pounding to a gentle trickle by the time Kravitz drifts off also, warmth along his chest and side, his two favorite boys secure in his arms.


End file.
